


You'll Have Everything

by sunshinetina



Category: Football RPF, Juanando
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinetina/pseuds/sunshinetina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are stories about my perspective of the Juanando relationship. Every story has a small connection with the previous one but could be read separately too. ;)))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You'll Have Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Right before Juan signing up for Chelsea.]

**CHAPTER 1**

_It’s past midnight. Is it ok to call him now? Is it?_

But the fingers don’t listen to me, dialing the number I know by heart. I go out, attentively closing the balcony door behind me, trying not to wake Ola up. He doesn’t answer for a long time and I imagine him tightly sleeping. And I got it right, probably, for the first thing I hear once he answers is him yawning.

 

‘Nando, que pasaaaa…’

 

_Nando._ I smile and somehow my whole body gets warmer just by the thought of Juan being on the other side of the phone and yawning my name. Any other person would get angry if I call them at 1.30 am. But not Juan. Never Juan.

 

‘Thought about it?’

 

‘Jesus, Fernando!’ I chuckle, imagining him stretching his short legs between the bedsheets, ‘I thought something bad has happened. Thought about what?’

 

I pout. He hasn’t thought about it. He has forgotten. And on this my whole life was relying for months. But he didn’t even care. I swallow hard.

 

‘Nothing. Sorry for waking you up.’

 

‘Nando, wait! Torres!’

 

I hear him standing up and puffing while doing so. My thumb hesitates whether to end this call but my heart tells me to keep on.

 

‘It’s nothing, Juan, everything is al-…’

 

‘Why do you want me to come to London so, so much?’

 

He has _not_ forgotten. God, he knew!

 

I feel my face instantaneously brightening up just by the thought of him considering this option which – I knew – was the only one to keep me alive.

 

‘Because.’

 

‘This is not a reason.’

 

I chuckle, literally seeing his small grumpy bearded face. He is rubbing his blue eyes right now, I bet. And yawns again – that I can hear.

 

‘Because I need someone to help me stand on my feet.’

 

‘You have Olalla and the kids.’

 

‘I meant a teammate, Juan. A friend.’

 

‘Oh.’

 

He keeps silent and I keep thinking about answers avoiding the real reason.

 

‘Why me, then? Why not… Why not… Ramos, for example? He is your best friend.’

 

‘Don’t be ridiculous. He is bound to die in Madrid.’

 

I giggle but he does not respond and I have to stop. He is too serious and this is not good, I know. He won’t come. He won’t give me a helping hand.

 

‘Yes. But if that was not the case, you’d never have asked me.’

 

‘I hate the _what if-_ s.’

 

‘Yet…’

 

‘Yet, I am asking _you_.’

 

‘I can’t come, Fernando. I have my family, friends, life here, in Valencia. I can’t adapt to a new place, new country, new club, new league, new people. Don’t ask me to do that.’

 

I nod and gulp, playing with the leaves of one of the planted flowers around me.

 

‘I need you.’

 

I say it so barely heard that I doubt that he has even caught a syllable. But his deep sigh and then the sudden lack of breathing tell me otherwise.

 

‘No, you don’t. You don’t need anyone to stand tall on your feet. You are the only person in this world that I know of, who would always raise up after a hard falling.’

 

‘I am not that person anymore.’

 

‘Fernando, I’ve always looked up to you in a complete awe. Don’t make me regret that.’

 

‘Come here and you won’t.’

 

He puffed. I heard him shift.

 

‘What are you so afraid of, Juan? Hm? Sooner or later, you’ll have to leave Valencia and you know it.’

 

‘Not for Chelsea.’

 

This was a massive slap across the face. I tore the leaf I was playing with.

 

‘Why not?’

 

‘Because.’

 

I smirk, ‘This is not a reason.’

 

‘You have not given me one for me to come to London, so…’

 

‘I. Need. You. Mata.’

 

‘Don’t. Be. Stupid. Torres.’

 

I laugh and hear him giggle. This giggle that always gets me and always makes me grin like an imbecile.

 

‘Come here. Please. I promise you you’ll never ever regret it. You like to explore – London is a great city to do so. You like challenges – Premier League would be the perfect challenge. You like languages – English it is. And you’ll see Paula more often. Hm?’

 

‘What if I don’t get along and they sell me after one season?’

 

‘The whole world knows this won’t happen. They haven’t sold me, yet alone a pearl like you.’

 

‘Don’t compliment me, Fernando, it won’t work,’ I smile again. He is silent for a bit.

 

‘Ok, if I comeeeeee-…’

 

‘You will?’ I interrupt him, way to enthusiastically.

 

‘Let me finish! If I come, what happens? Where would I sleep – you want me to go to London in a few months! I need to arrange everything here, to sign distance course-learning, to find a flat in London, a car, and-…’

 

‘I will give you everything I have. A flat, a car, English teacher. Will help you finding the courses you need to follow. What else do you need?’

 

‘Fernando, I-…’

 

‘Tell me. I can find everything for you. Just tell me you would come.’

 

He kept silent again.

 

‘Everything?’

 

‘Everything.’

 

‘I don’t need _everything_ , Nando. I just need a friend – just like you do.’

 

‘You have me.’

 

‘Once you get back on your feet – and you will soon, I am absolutely sure – you will forget about me.’

 

‘This day won’t ever come. You will always be my Juan, I promise.’

 

He stutters – probably because of the use of _my_ , which has involuntarily slipped through. But I don’t regret it – not a single bit.

 

‘I will come to London.’

 

‘Juan-…’

 

‘You know why?’

 

‘Why?’

 

‘Because you will always be _my_ Fernando,’ I grin again and bite my lips, ‘But that doesn’t mean I won’t take your flat, car, etc.’

 

‘Just don’t take my wife and kids, please.’

 

He laughs and I feel the warmth inside me once again, ‘Nooooo! But I will take the husband and the father, and polish him to become the star he is.’

 

‘Promise?’

 

‘Anything for you, Nando. I hope you already get that.’

 

‘I do. I will never be able to say enough _thank you_ -s.’

 

‘Just your smile is enough for me.’

 

‘You are the best, Juan.’

 

‘Told you not to compliment me.’

 

I chuckle again and look back to the bedroom to the shifting Olalla between the bedsheets.

 

‘Ok, leave me to sleep now. It’s two something in the morning here – have some mercy.’

 

‘Fine,’ I smile at Olalla who has opened her eyes and is now waving at me in confusion, ‘I will go too. Flat, car, English teacher, courses… Anything else – just call me.’

 

‘Yes, yes, ok, don’t overdo yourself,’ he yawns again and I imagine him tucking the bedsheets under her chin. Can’t help but smile again, ‘Buenas.’

 

‘Noches.’

 

I hang up and open the balcony’s door to get it.

 

Flat, car, English teacher, courses. And one more thing will be his, though I avoided saying it. _My heart._

 

 


	2. You'll Have Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [About one shirt, some words and plenty of strong feelings.]

**CHAPTER 2**

_Juan’s POV_

‘I think we have a problem,’ I rolled my eyes and dragged myself to the washing room. Fernando took three shirts out of the machine. All of them pink. I couldn’t help but laugh at his helpless face, ‘Veryyy funny, Juan. Now what?’

‘Pink suits you.’

I winked at him and moved back to the living room, hearing him walk after me with the soaked up clothes.

‘I am ridiculous. Can’t even wash my clothes without Olalla.’

‘I suggested to help you but you were stubborn,’ I shrugged, taking an apple and landing on the sofa. He shook his head, looking once again at the miserable state of his shirts.

‘A favour?’ he pouted and looked at me with his puppy brown eyes. I gulped and proceeded to bite my apple, to distract myself from that gaze a bit. But there was a worm in it and I immediately threw it away, by instinct.

‘Ew, madre de Dios!’

Fernando laughed, picking the apple up and taking the worm out of it, then washing it off and throwing it back at me, ‘Here, I  _saved_  you. Now do me a favour.’

‘What favour, Fernando?’

I rolled my eyes, hesitantly biting the apple again.

‘Give me one of your shirts.’

‘You damaged my stove yesterday. Today it’s the washing machine. Now a shirt.’

‘Por favor, por favor. I need it. For the interview today.’

I puffed and stood up, slowly walking towards my bedroom and opening the wardrobe. Pointed it to him as his face brightened up.

‘Here you go,’ I sat on the bed, as he rushed to look through the shirts, ‘Although I doubt anything would fit you.’

‘Calling me fat?’ he was taking a shirt out, then another – judging, comparing, thinking. I smiled.

‘You are the fittest person I know, Fernando,’ I swallowed and looked at the apple in my hands again. Felt myself blushing when he took his shirt off to put one of mine. It, however, was short for him, and I chuckled.

‘Don’t laugh. Where is the Adidas one?’

I frowned. I had a lot of Adidas shirts, ‘Which one?’

‘The black one,’ he was waving around, his eyes wandering through the wardrobe, ‘With the short sleeves. The one I gave you for your birthday.’

‘Ah!’ I pointed at one of the drawers and he opened… the wrong one. He took out a pair of light-blue boxers with Donald Duck on them. I coughed as he giggled and giggled, ‘Wrong drawer, Fernando. The right one.’

‘Let me guess. Paula?’

‘Flawless guess. Right. One.’

‘Do you wear them at all?’

‘Just once. On  _your_  birthday,’ I bit my lips and he grinned, closing the drawer without putting the boxers back in.

‘Oh, I guess I am kinda special, then,’ he opened the right drawer finally and took the shirt out, ‘Perfect! This would be tight around the…’ he showed his biceps and I rolled my eyes, ‘But it would do. Oh!’ he waved with the boxers, ‘I am taking those too.’

‘Fernando!’

He laughed, snuggling both the boxers and the shirt closer to himself as I jumped and tried to take them away from him. Damn the height difference.

‘Most of the shirts may not fit me but the boxers will, I am pretty sure,’ now my cheeks were burning. He was sure? How come? Like… of course he has seen me in my boxers in the dressing room but he… checked me out? It couldn’t be true, Juan. Stop thinking like that. Fernando is your friend. Stop. I shook my head.

‘Ok, ok! But one day I  _insist_  on seeing you wearing them,’ he threw them at me and I tried my best to smile. He quickly put the shirt on and was right – it was indeed a bit tight around his biceps. I swallowed as he adjusted it so that it perfectly depicted his torso. And I knew myself – if I was treasuring this shirt before because it was a gift from him, now it was one of the most valuable things I’ve ever had.

‘I promise I will give it to Ola to wash it thereafter.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll wash it myself,’ no, I won’t. But that’s details.

He winked at me and opened the front door as I hastened up to put my grey cardigan on.

‘Come on, fashionista,’ he poked my shoulder as I laughed and walked before him.

The weather was just perfect. Shining and bright London morning – rare and so, so pleasant. I leaned back on my seat as he was swiftly driving through the small streets. A catchy song took me out of my delirium. I knew this sound.

‘Sergio, hombre! Que tal?’

I rolled my eyes and tried my best to look through the window and not at the stupidly smiling Fernando. Ramos. Always at the best moments. Damn him.

‘No, todo esta bien. Si. Hay una entrevista. Con Juan, si. No, no. Si. Vale, voy.’

He hung up with the same stupid grin, taking one last turn before stopping. I remained silent and just stole a quick look at him. Still smiling.

‘Did he say something funny?’

‘No, why?’

‘Cause you are smiling like an idiot.’

He lifted an eyebrow and looked at me, then away, concentrating on parking the car.

‘Yes, Juan. Cause I am with you. I am always happy when I am with you.’

As always. Just one sentence like this was enough for me to forget about the world, yet alone about Sergio Ramos. I smiled quietly and opened the door as soon as he parked the car, walking out. He followed me to the garden, in silence. And all this time I thought how happy those simple things make me – him wearing my shirt, me walking next to him, him smiling (didn’t matter the actual reason but it was such a pleasure hearing him say it was because of me). I instinctively put my hands in the pockets of my jeans and saw him doing the same thing. Involuntarily smiled.

‘Relax. The interview is going to be just perfect. It’s all about you, Juan. Calm down.’

‘Thank you for being here.’

He just smiled and proceeded to greet the lady.

To be honest, I didn’t really listen to everything he was saying. He mentioned how messy I was – that I heard and smirked. I was thinking about Ramos and about the fact that no matter how smiling Fernando was with me, he was just flying when he was with Sergio. I loved Fernando and I knew I was one of his best friends. But Ramos was not ‘one of’. He was his  _best_  friend and I could not even compete with him. And this physically hurt me.

I took a sip of my juice, trying to listen to Fernando. Lazy? Messy?

‘Not true,’ I smiled, trying to get rid of all the other thoughts. Took a napkin, instinctively, as he continued to talk.

‘And after that he goes to training and he is the best, so… doesn’t matter,’ I folded my hands and laughed.  _The best_. He was just so saying it. We both knew I was not  _the best_. He was. He was the best of the best. Well, for me, at least.

‘Really, you can see he is a very nice guy. Really… Normal and…’ he was touching his hair. A thing he rarely does – only when he was exceptionally nervous. Of course he was nervous. He was doing his best to come up with some positives about me. It must have been hard, ‘You can see it from the beginning. He’s not of this kind of players that are living in a movie…’

He was good. I chuckled on his remark. Well, of course. What kind of movie it would be? Making everyone fall asleep on the fifth minute.

‘Very normal guy and… and…’ he was struggling with finding a compliment. How surprising, ‘And it’s nice to be with him because you can do anything.’

My smile faded away on his  _anything_. I needed just one thing, yet…

‘And… it’s just about the mess he is,’ he must have sensed the mistake he made with saying we could do  _anything_ , so tried to get back to the funny part. I tried to laugh, ‘Especially, cause he is next to me and sometimes I come to the training in the morning and I have no place to sit because he has all his boxes and magazines and everything there.’

At first I thought he said  _boxers_  and I instantaneously laughed, remembering the Donald Duck ones. And it was his initial plan too, obviously – he checked on me whether I got it.

He kept talking about Chelsea and I was just looking at him from time to time, not really processing his words, my eyes involuntarily sliding to the shirt he was weari-…

‘Fernando said how good of a player you are. How do you rate Fernando?’

No, she just didn’t ask this. She must have seen my stolen glances. Hm, ok. Well…

‘What can I say about Fernando?’ whatever I say, it would be just not enough, ‘He is one of the best, for sure,’ the best for me, for sure, ‘And…’ God, what shall I say now? How could I avoid saying everything I want to say? ‘I would like to be like him. In a way,’ this is so wrong, ‘I would like to be like him as a professional, as a player, as a person. And for me, when I was growing up, when I was learning how was football, he was already there – he was one of the best already. So, he was like an idol.’

I finished up, thanking God I came up with something relatively stable and not so revealing my true feelings. I couldn’t bare looking up at him now, so I glued my eyes to the interviewer.

‘It’s a high praise,’ no, don’t. I looked at him, my palms already sweating. He was smiling and looking straight at me – his brown eyes sparkling and like saying a million  _thank you_ -s. The  _thank you_ -s I treasured so, so much but which were just not enough for me.

‘Yeah, sure.’

‘You have to pay for the breakfast now,’ I tried to break the tension up a bit. He shifted and took a deep breath, grinning. He was proud. He was proud of hearing me say all those things about him, no matter how often he has heard from me that he was the best. And I smiled, my heart melting just by the thought of making him happy.

The lady thanked us, we autographed several shirts, and accompanied her and the cameraman to their lorry. Went back to Fernando’s car – me walking a bit in front of him.

‘Juan!’

‘Hm?’ I turned around. He was standing several feet away, with his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

‘The things you said there. Thank you. They made my day.’

‘All of them were true.’

‘And I couldn’t say anything about you.’

‘You did a lot in the Euro final. This was your way to say all those things. And I will be forever thankful to you for that.’

He smiled. The smile I treasured so damn much and which was always warming up and breaking my heart at the same time.

‘But one thing I did say,’ he chuckled, unlocking the car and stepping closer to it, ‘You really are the best. Best footballer, best person, best friend.’

Always. He has always made me feel this way – happy and sad at the same time. He considered me the best. But he considered me a friend.

I nodded and stepped into the car. He did the same, igniting it in silence.

‘By the way, I am going to Spain next week. With Olalla and the kids.’

‘Great,’ I looked through the window. I bet he would meet up with Sergio – this was inevitable.

‘Would you like to come?’

I smiled, still looking through the window, ‘No, Fernando. We will think about something with Paula. Go have some fun with your family. You can meet up with Sergio too.’

‘We will meet when the national team gathers up. You promised me I’ll be there – let’s see if you’d be right,’ I chuckled. I knew he would be called up. And I knew this would break me down. Him. Sergio. And me.

I heard a ballad playing on the radio and closed my eyes under the blazing sun, drowning in my thoughts.

 


	3. You'll Have Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Juan is (a lot) bit jealous and Fernando does not like this and feels bad about it.]

**CHAPTER 3**

_Fernando’s POV_

I laughed at another one of Sergio’s jokes and looked to my left. There he was – doing squats after squats, puffing, with a straight, almost frowny face.

‘Juan?’

He didn’t respond, just curved his lips into an attempting smile and stretched his arms in front of him. Cesar elbowed him (he was on his other side) and Juan laughed at him, mumbling something I couldn’t hear with his Asturian accent.

I felt the unusual pain in my heart as Juan continued talking and laughing with Cesar, half-turning his back at me. He was neglecting me for days – ever since we came to the US, and it was more than obvious. I mean, even Iker was raising an eyebrow every time I was trying to have a bit more than basic conversation with Juan. He was just nodding and answering simply, apparently reluctant to talk to me, while having fun with everyone around – even with Sergio, to my own surprise.

Once the training finished (without him sparing more than  _si_ / _no_  at me), I trailed after Cesar and him, tapping his shoulder. He just turned a bit at me, smiled slightly, and directed his attention to Cesar again. Who, thankfully, was called by Del Bosque.

‘Juan, what’s wrong?’

‘Hm?’

Juan did not even bother looking at me – just continued walking, without a pause.

‘You don’t talk to me.’

‘I don’t?’ it was supposed to sound like a question full of surprise but it didn’t. It was more like a statement, ‘Well, you have plenty of people to talk to. It’s ok. When we get to London, we will talk more.’

‘Juan!’ I grabbed his shoulder and turned him around to face me. But he still looked away, ‘Tell me what is it. What have I done?’

‘Nothing, Nando. I just… I want to see the boys – we two see each other constantly.’

‘Yet, you are talking to Azpilicueta.’

He rolled his eyes and snorted.

‘You are just fed up with me, Juan. Say it.’

He shook his head, the slight smirk on his pink lips making me lose my breath for a second.

‘I will never ever be fed up with you, Nando, and that’s my greatest problem,’ he shrugged, waving with his hand and sighing loudly, ‘Anyways, let’s go. We are travelling to New York tonight.’

I tried to say something else but watching him silently go away made my heart sink and my words stutter behind my teeth. A pat on my back woke up from my painful delirium.

‘What’s wrong with him?’

I shrugged as Sergio chuckled and winked at me, pushing me to the locker rooms, ‘So much jealousy in such a small man.’

And then it hit me. Juan was sad about Sergio and me. How could I have been so blind? He has always been making faces and mimics when it came to Sergio. He refused to talk about him, was puffing whenever  _I_  was mentioning him. And Sergio insisted on himself and me sharing a room in this US tour. I wanted to spend some days with him, of course – haven’t seen him for ages – we needed to talk, like two stupid teenagers. But Juan… Talking with Juan in the hotel rooms was so much special – it had this different tickling feeling through my entire body which was causing me even to fall asleep smiling.

‘I am going to stay with him in New York.’

‘Que? Come on, hombre, you can’t be serious. He is just-…’

‘He is Juan, Sergio,’ I shot him with a serious glare right before reaching the locker rooms, ‘He is my Juan. And it hurts me so much seeing him like that.’

_Several hours later, in ‘Nueva York’_

I opened the door slightly and kicked it, trying to pull the suitcase in and balance newspapers and clothes and an iPod and a bottle of water and a pair of trainers… somehow.

‘Azpi, let me hel-… Oh!’

Juan took some of the things in my hands and kept the door open for me.

‘What a kind reaction,’ I smiled, winking at him to close the door, ‘Which one is yours?’

He just pointed at the one near the window (Juan and his adoration for the views!) and I nodded with a smile, throwing my things on the other bed.

‘Aren’t you with Sergio?’

‘No. Fought like crazy with Azpi – left him some bruises here and there – but got the princess’s room.’

His bluest eyes widened up and I chuckled in response.

‘Aren’t you happy to share a room with me or you don’t want to spend time with me now because we are always together in London?’

‘You should’ve spent it with Sergio – don’t wanna listen to your complaints of missing him when we get back to England.’

I shook my head with a smile, coming closer to him as he sat on the radiator near the window.

‘I guessed right, then. You are sad about Sergio and me.’

He shifted uncomfortably and I smirked, feeling the warmth flowing through my veins.

‘Why should I be sad? He is your best friend and he is a wonderful person.’

‘He is.’

Juan pursed his lips and looked through the window, the grey light of the rain outside depicting his blue eyes. I put my hands in the pockets of my jeans and supported myself on the radiator too, waiting for him to look at me, as I was staring at him.

‘What?’

‘How can you stand me, Juan?’

‘Sorry?’

‘I was so helpless when you came to Chelsea– I was literally begging you to death to come to London and to save me. Then out of La Roja – you were fighting to keep me in, giving me strength, courage and ambition. You were the only one standing up for me against everyone and everything. And, despite everything, I still ramble about Ramos and you have to put up with this.’

He kept silent and gulped, avoiding my gaze once again.

‘I am not putting up with anything. Sergio is your best friend – I am not even trying to compete.’

‘There is no competition – you mean the world to me. Sergio is my best friend – yes. You are my saviour. You decide which one is stronger.’

Now he looked at me and I melted at the puppy eyes he was making, trying my best not to cup his face, which I did not succeed not to. I squeezed his cheeks and quietly giggled at his childish expression.

‘I am sorry if I-… Why  _if_?’ I shook my head, ‘I am sorry to  _have_  hurt you, Juan. I really am. Please, please, please, let me stay in your room.’

He smiled – the edges of his mouth hitting my palms, ‘And we will talk about history and art?’

I rolled my eyes, ‘About anything you want to.’

‘Really?’

‘Really. Just forgive me.’

‘I have nothing to forgive you for, Nando,’ he pressed his hands on top of mine, making me lose my conscience a bit, but smile, nevertheless, ‘I love you too much to be angry or sad at you.’

‘Ok, just… Let me go to Sergio and-…’

He frowned and I laughed, embracing him and pulling him close to my chest, stroking his hair, then patting his back, ‘I am kidding, Juan. I am here. I am all yours. No Sergios, no Olallas, no-…’

‘Yeah, yeah, I get the message,’ he laughed in my neck, ‘Just don’t snore, okay?’

_Morning. About 6-7 hours later._

I woke up, feeling a bit dizzy (must still be the damn jet-lag) and turned around. His bedsheet tugged under his chin, one of his legs almost falling off the bed, his hands kept closer to him, grabbing the sheet too tightly. And the longest eyelashes ever, pointing to the most peaceful smile on Earth. I put my hands under my pillow and took a deep sigh just looking at the calm sleep of his, feeling this already well-known warmth filling me up. This was my favourite thing in the mornings, right after kissing Nora and Leo for good morning – watching Juan sleep. Olalla has never been a peaceful sleeper – when we were not even fiancées, she used to kick me during the nights and twice she even sent me off bed. Juan was so calm – he barely moved, and was literally like a kid (or even better) while asleep. To be honest, not only when he was asleep. This is the thing with Juan – everyone loves children, everyone loves Juan because he is just like them. He is true. You know – when an adult is depressed, angry, has loads of problems – they seek the hug of a child, as if all their problems would instantaneously fade away with this hug, with this touch to the pure and the innocent. The same was with Juan. Everyone wanted to hold him tight, to talk to him, to receive a good word from him.

Once I saw him drunk – he was still the sweetheart he has always been. I thought he would change and that he would get nervous or even a bit arrogant: you know, drunkenness always shows our not-so-pleasant sights. But no. He remained calm, he was blushing (realising his state), he was sleepy. This one night I told him I loved him more than any friend I have ever had and that he would always, always, always be my one and only Juan. But he had already fallen asleep in the car, not hearing a sound of my voice. Before and after that I’ve heard a lot of times him saying he loved me. And it physically hurt me that I was so damn scared to say it again, when he was sober and expecting me to say it. Was he? Cause, you know, he was saying he loved me but he surely meant it as a friend. And he just didn’t know how much I loved him and how more of a friend he was to me – not sure what exactly he was in my life but I knew he was a pillar I was afraid would crash down any time and destroy me completely.

He sighed and mumbled something in his dream, and I smiled, still staring at him. I would never ever say enough  _thank you_ -s to him. I tried to, at the Euro final, and ever since he was sincerely and jokingly been saying he was so damn grateful to me for what I did. If I had the chance, I wouldn’t have scored the third goal either. All I wanted was for him to be part of the greatness of Spain, part of our joy. All I wanted was his smile and happiness. And I would never forget his sparkling blue eyes as he ran towards me (I thought he would hug me – but no, he jumped on me), half-whispering  _Es tuya, es tuya_ , talking about the ball, the goal (or the Golden Boot, as he later told me). And I wanted to scream  _es tuya – mi alma es tuya_  but I just caught his small body as he jumped on me and whispered a million  _gracias por todo, Nando_  in my ear before the others hugged us as well. I didn’t want this moment to ever end – Juan in my hands, his lips caressing my earlobe, his hands holding me tightly and not wanting to ever let me go. I could have carried him on my back for what seemed like an eternity, I swear. And I was fully aware of my stupid grin. And of my even more stupid grin half an hour or so later, when Nora came to me with her fluffy dark-blue skirt and told me,  _Tio Juan es increíble, no?_  And I just knew that I helped him being  _increíble_  tonight – just the way he has been helping me for months. And I was happy knowing that I have done just 0.1% of what he has done for me; that I have shown just a bit how much he means to me.

‘Fernando…’ I almost jumped, startled, when he whispered my name, and stared at him again. He has not opened his eyes. He was dreaming. Dreaming and saying my name. I gulped.

‘Si, Juan. Que?’

‘Fernando, yo-…’ he sighed and shook his head in his dream and tugged the bedsheet even closer to him.

‘Me quieres?’

‘Si,’ Juan smiled in his sleep – this precious smile making me instantaneously smile as well, ‘Mucho, mucho.’

‘Lo se. Y yo te quiero, Juan. Muchisimo.’

‘Si.’

‘Si.’

I giggled and stretched my hand at him – my fingertips almost touching his beard. He licked his lips and I saw his eyelashes moving, immediately putting my hand back and closing my eyes. He was waking up.

‘God, what time is iiiiit…’ I heard him yawning, desperately trying not to show I was awake. He puffed several times, crashed the clock on the table between our beds, cursed slightly (it was hard not to smile on that), then I felt his gaze on me. I swear, he was smiling, even though I was not able to see him, ‘Well, that’s awkward. It’s always you who wakes up first.’

Did he know I was already awake and watching him sleep? Those words I just said? Did he hear them? I felt my pulse increasing rapidly and chickened out he might hear it.

‘Nando?’ his whispering voice sent goose-bumps all over my spine. I heard him shift and toss the bedsheet aside, possibly standing up. Next thing I felt was his warm hand on my cheek, ‘Fernando, wake up. It’s past 9, Del Bosque would kill us.’

I opened my eyes slowly, meeting his blue, blue, blue ones smiling at me. He was squatting near my bed – his one hand it and the other one still on my cheek. I smiled, sensing I was about to blush. He smiled too, a bit sleepily.

‘Come on, Sleeping Beauty, get up. I will go take a shower.’

‘What is the plan for today?’

He sighed, standing up, and taking a towel from the wardrobe.

‘Some promenade aroundNew Yorktill the afternoon – yes, Torres, shopping,’ Juan laughed when I tried to interrupt him with my usual question, ‘Then, training. But…’ he pointed at the window, ‘With this rain…’

‘There are those things called umbrellas, Mata.’

‘Oh, yes, sugar-lady. Will get two for you because you can melt under the rain.’

‘True, though,’ I tossed my bedsheet aside too and sat on the bed, rubbing my eyes. He rolled his.

‘Won’t you go out with Ser-…’

‘No. He is with Navas.’

‘Oh. Okay, then,’ he shrugged and directed himself to the bathroom. I stood up, smiling as he was neatly arranging the shampoo and all his cosmetics, preparing to take a shower.

‘We will succeed going to the training – just about 5-6 hours for you to get ready, apparently. As always.’

He shrugged again, reading the shampoo’s label, when I looked at the mirror in the bathroom, ‘Well, go with Navas and Ramos, then.’

‘Juan, if you say Sergio’s name once again-…’

‘What?’ he lifted his eyebrows ignorantly, putting the shampoo back and placing his towel on the hanger.

‘I would take the shower first.’

‘No way. I woke up first. You know the rules.’

I smiled silently, looking at his tiny and still sleepy bearded face. He pointed at the door.

‘Fernando. Out.’

‘No. I am first.’

‘Fernando!’

I turned him around, pushing him at the door (which was not a hard thing to do, since he was so small), slamming the door after him and locking it. He knocked on it.

‘Fine. I am going to Cesar’s room to take a shower, then,’ the sharp feeling in my stomach again. I opened the door of the bathroom and let him proudly come in and point at the door again, ‘Out.’

I chuckled and left, my forehead pressed on the closed door as he turned the shower on and started singing. He had such an incredibly beautiful voice (like everything he had, to be honest) and still was ashamed to sing in front of me or anyone else. And I just had to rest there – my forehead pressed on the door, listening to him, with my eyes half-closed. I heard him turning the shower off and hurried up to open the wardrobe and to take the first thing I saw out.

I caught him with the edge of my eyes – his short body in the incredibly large for him towel, walking out of the bathroom with the hairdryer. He yawned again, plugging it in and hurrying up to dry his hair. He looked at me and caught my gaze at him. Smiled.

‘If you are going to mock me about my curls again, get out.’

‘No, I was going to say…’ he was not hearing me, because of the hairdryer’s noise, ‘That you are beautiful.’

But the has turned off the dryer to arrange his towel. Looked at me.

‘What is beautiful?’

‘Your voice,’ I gulped and he laughed, shaking his head.

‘We’ve talked about that, Fernando. No way for me to sing for you. Nora asked me and I refused, yet alone you.’

‘Am I not special enough?’

He smirked at the mirror and licked his lips, ‘You are even more special. But… no.’

We both laughed as I pointed at the bathroom, ‘Is it a disaster there?’

‘Well, no shampoo. But you’ve got no hair, so…’

‘Veryyy funny, Mata, ha-ha!’ I rolled my eyes at his childish giggles, and came in the bathroom. His aftershave all around. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling it.

‘Juan?’

‘Si?’

‘May I use your aftershave?’

‘Oh, Fernando, again? Haven’t you bought some, seeing you’ve forgotten it?’

‘I have but it’s over already. Por fa-…’

‘Vale.’

I smirked, closing the door behind me and stepping under the shower, turning the water on. I threw my brand new aftershave away just yesterday. This was a habit of mine when we were together with him – me using his aftershave. Creepy, I know, but I felt him closer to me that way.

When I walked out of the room, he was already dressed.  _Perfectly_  dressed, to be honest. Dark jeans and a belt, simple (and too tight on his chest) white shirt, brown jacket. His hair was combed perfectly, his beard was in the best state ever. I swallowed hard, dragging myself to my bed, as he was tying his shoes.

‘We are late, Fernando Torres.’

‘Okay, okay. I am doing my best.’

I didn’t really care I was there, just in my boxers, trying to choose what to where. I quickly looked at him, catching him looking at me too, with a sheepish smile.

‘Mister fashion-is-my-middle-name… Hurry. Up.’

I chuckled and put on the first clothes I saw, finally looking at the mirror. Juan opened the door.

‘Thankful that I did not have to give you one of my shirts again,’ he rolled his eyes. I walked out, going to the lifts and pressing the button, as he was locking the door.

‘All theNew Yorkladies would be yours, Mata,’ I winked at him, getting in the lift. He clicked his tongue.

‘I am strolling the streets with Fernando Torres – have that in mind.’

‘Well… You are kinda lucky, I guess.’

He shrugged, pressing the button for the ground floor, ‘I am not saying otherwise. Everyone should be jealous.’

He laughed and I smiled, involuntarily sliding my fingers through two unarranged curls of his hair. I sensed him freezing upon my touch and his blue eyes anxiously looking up to me.

‘What was that for?’

‘Making them even more jealous.’

‘Huh?’

The lift’s doors opened and I pointed at him to walk out first. Two men ran up to us with huge umbrellas.

‘Thank you.’

‘Ah, no. None for me, thank you. Both are for Torres,’ Juan said it with such a serious tone when an old lady opened the door for him, offering him another umbrella, and I chuckled. He stepped back as I approached him and one of the men opened an umbrella for me.

‘Sure?’ I said it with a smile, seeing him trying to suppress his giggles as he faked a bow for me to walk out.

‘I am being the man in our relationship, please.’

I laughed, walking out, and immediately trying to keep it silent as I looked directly at the photographers. Caught Juan’s serious face behind me and this warmth filled my body once again.

Tomorrow, maybe, I would dare to say all those things I said this morning but with his eyes wide-open at me. Maybe. I know I would be afraid of doing so.

 


	4. You'll Have Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Juan finally dares to act more openly; everyone knows Fernando fancies Juan way too much. And finally, Fernando gathers all the courage needed for /the/ confession.]

**CHAPTER 4**

_Fernando’s POV_

I stared at the ceiling and took a deep breath, not letting the grin fade away from my face. I felt so unbelievably happy, so relieved, so… blessed recently, that I didn’t want this to ever end. Here we were – Brazil. Confederations Cup. We were here to win and I felt we would do it. My heart was beating tremendously fast as I smiled at the lamp above me, looking like a complete idiot.

 

‘Fernando, would you mind switching the lights off… Gah…’ I chuckled and did as Juan told me. He buried his nose in the pillow, taking a loud breath. I stole a quick look at the hair I dreaded to ruffle but had to constrain myself from doing so.

 

‘Juan, why did you do it?’

 

‘Huh?’

 

He was barely breathing in this position. I giggled again.

 

‘In the US.’

 

‘Yes?’

 

‘You slapped my ass. While I was doing an interview.’

 

‘And you enjoyed it.’

 

I did.

 

_I was as serious as I could, answering to and trying to hear all the questions asked. Then my eyes involuntarily shifted on the right when a known perfume hit my nostrils. He remained calm and just as serious as I was trying my best to be. But the mischievous smirk on his face revealed him. And just before I could smile to him approaching me, his hand slapped by bottom, taking me by surprise. So, my smile turned into a grin as a flush of warmth rushed in me once again. He just walked by, quickly looking at my reaction, leaving me stuttering upon my next answer._

‘But why did you do it?’

 

‘Cause I felt like doing so. Nando, if you are going to talk at 2am, should I slap your fine ass again to shut you up or you prefer to cut you in two?’

 

I laughed and he snorted, shifting to take a breath, blinking at me. I looked at his eyes which were sleepily shining under the soft lights coming from the window.

 

‘Should I open the balcony door? It’s deadly hot in here.’

 

‘It’s ok. Unless _you_ are hot.’

 

He smirked and I let my head fall back in my pillow. We finally stared at each other for quite a long time.

 

‘You are happy, Fernando.’

 

‘Yes, I am. Much more than just _happy_.’

 

‘I am happy too, then.’

 

‘This is what I want.’

 

‘Is this why you decided to sleep in my room? First in New York, then Recife, then here in Rio? To make _me_ happy? You shouldn’t have.’

 

‘No, in that I was kinda egoistic. This makes _me_ happy.’

 

‘Liar,’ he laughed and shook his head, closing his eyes. I smiled with the corner of my mouth, ‘You know what I just dreamt of?’

 

‘Hm?’

 

‘The Euro final. Dios.’

 

I smiled again, the emotions from that night rushing through my veins.

 

‘You can’t believe how much I loved you when I scored and looked at you,’ Juan chuckled cutely and I sighed loudly, on purpose.

 

‘Just then?’

 

‘Don’t be a fool. You know I always do love you,’ he looked at me and winked – a childish happiness expressed on his face.

 

‘Me too.’

 

‘Me too _what_?’

 

He was teasing me. He probably wanted to hear it but I just couldn’t say it. Like… I knew this was the right time but a heavy lump rested on my throat. He laughed with a sad hint in his laughter and tugged the bedsheets under his beard again.

 

‘Buenas, Fernando.’

 

‘Noches, Juan.’

 

_Juan’s POV_

I was a nightmare at sit-ups and push-ups and everything –ups, in general. Puffing, I kicked the grass and splashed on it, resting on my stomach. It was soft and nice and smelled beautifully. God, I could easily fall asleep here. Just let me-…

 

‘Mata! 25 push-ups! Madre de Dios, que imbeciles…’

 

I snorted at Del Bosque and lifted myself up on my palms, looking at the soft and charming grass again. One, two, three… No, someone kill me now. Seven, eight, nine… Damn, this was awful.

 

‘More effort on the _nine_ , por favor.’

 

I smiled instantaneously.

 

‘Ten, already,’ eleven, twelve, ‘Thirteen!’

 

He laughed behind me and I looked to my right to catch his green boots and his toned legs. Licked my lips, trying to take a breath between the push-ups.

 

‘You can’t do 25 push-ups.’

 

‘Who says so?’ fifteen, sixteen…

 

‘Everyone.’

 

‘Leave the poor boy alone. He can do more than that,’ Sergio passed by, patting Nando’s shoulder and grinning.

 

‘Ok, the fact that Ramos just supported _you_ and _not me_ is a bit terrifying,’ Nando chuckled and I did the same, already sensing myself giving up. Twenty-ooooone… Four more, Mata, come on. Show him you can do it.

 

‘What do I get if I make them?’

 

_Fernando’s POV_

I heard the question but I also saw the answer, to be honest. He was slowly moving up and down at the grass and I involuntarily shifted my gaze from his hair to his bottom. Against all the odds, I was definitely admiring the view. Smiled.

 

‘What do you want?’

 

‘Blah! Ice-cream. With more chocolate sparkles on it.’

 

I rolled my eyes. That was definitely _not_ my idea.

 

‘With an ass like that, this is the last thing Fernando wants, Juan,’ Cesar passed by, drinking his third tea, just blankly lifting his eyebrows up and moving away. I froze and blinked. But no matter how hard I tried to look up, I just couldn’t – my eyes were like glued to Juan’s bottom.

 

‘Fernando, hombre, oye!’

 

‘Que?’

 

‘Veinte yyyyyyy cincooooooo!’

 

He fell on the ground, totally surrendering, to which I chuckled. He turned around, rolling on the grass like a puppy.

 

‘Torres, stop flirting with Mata and do something, Dios.’

 

Del Bosque rolled his eyes, pushing me aside. I grinned at Juan who was on one knee already, stretching his other leg. I stretched my arms.

 

‘When do I get my ice-cream?’ he laughed – red because of the sudden blood rush in his face, due to the push-ups.

 

‘When does Fernando get the booty…’ Cesar passed by as nonchalantly as before, stirring his tea again. Juan laughed.

 

‘Ok, someone tell me – what is going on?’ I shrugged to Juan’s question.

 

‘Hombre, I don’t know who the El Nino of you two is,’ Sergio snorted, winked at Juan’s confused expression, ‘Fernando dumped me and came to your room. He is taking promenades with you, shopping, cafés, restaurants… We can barely see him in our free time – he is always with you. Considering the fact you are always together in London too…’ – he looked at Cesar for approval who just nodded – , ‘It’s… nice?’

 

Juan looked at me and I gulped, looking at my toes. Mechanically continued my arm-stretching.

 

‘Yesterday we went out for a drink without you and he stood up at 9pm – _9pm!_ – and said _I should go, Juan might be worried_. Juan, is your second name Olalla, by the way?’ Pepe folded his hands in front of his stomach and lifted his eyebrows up. Juan looked at me again and I just stole a quick look at his bright eyes. He smiled.

 

‘It’s _Manuel_ but I can take _Olalla_ too,’ he chuckled and I smiled, blushing up a bit, ‘Sorry to take Fernando away from you, chicos. He is all yours starting tonight.’

 

‘It doesn’t matter what you say, he would always _not_ have fun when you are not around.’

 

Reina shrugged, walking away with the others, mumbling something to them. I shrugged too, grinning at Juan, who chuckled. His blue eyes were glistening and he just couldn’t stop smiling.

 

‘Fernando, I am the most boring guy ever. How could you have fun with me? Like… All I do is play table tennis. You don’t even know what the net stands for!’

 

I laughed on this remark and my tongue travelled on my upper lip.

 

‘I need a serious guy in my life,’ I said dramatically, with a slight smirk (trying not to burst out laughing, which Juan did).

 

‘Are you proposing?’

 

‘Let’s take it one at a time, vale?’ I blushed involuntarily and he smiled, winking at me. His hand slid over his thigh and I looked away, taking a deep breath.

 

I looked at him again – his head lowered while he was tying his trainers. Took a deep breath.

 

‘Sabes que te quiero, no?’

 

He froze – his fingers still around the knot. He just moved his eyes up a bit and directed them at me. I gulped, trying to smile and not to blush. Neither succeeded.

 

‘Que?’

 

‘Nada.’

 

‘Eso me pareció.’

 

He smiled with this same sad hint in his eyes, looking down again. I was a jerk. A total jerk.

 

_Juan’s POV_

 

I put my pajamas on and crawled in bed, switching the lights off and turning around so I couldn’t see him going out of the bathroom. I sensed the hot damp air filling up the room when he opened the bathroom’s door and walked in. Heard him hum something under his nose. And I involuntarily smiled. _Tal como eres_ by his favourite _El Canto del Loco_. He was just humming the melody, without the lyrics, but I recognised it. He has always been afraid of singing in front of me – just like I was to sing in front of him. I’ve heard him once or twice, though. He had a funny voice, always making me chuckle.

 

_Hoy me siento tan grande, por tenerte a mi lado…_

 

He was adding whistles on his own. I put a palm on my mouth, not to reveal I was awake and hearing him.

 

‘Juan, are you awake?’ no response from me, ‘Mata?’

 

I stood still as he continued dressing up and singing.

 

_Me regalas la vida, que sin tí yo no valgooo… Nanananana…_

I smirked again at his improvisations. He switched the lights off and I heard him sighing in bed already.

 

_Tienes ese silencio y esos ojos_ azules _tan magos_ …

 

The word ‘blue’ eyes was not in the song. I gulped. Neither Olalla, nor Sergio got blue eyes. I mean…

 

_El hermano pequeño_ – he chuckled on this – _el que quiero_ …

 

‘Oh, Dios…’ he shifted and stopped singing. Must have been a minute or two in complete silence.

 

_Y pensado, que sinceramente, te quiero asi – tal como eres._

He was talking now – not singing. Whispering to himself. The weight in my heart became heavier. I turned around, trying to hide myself from looking at him. He was staring at the ceiling – his bedsheet somewhere aside, his legs spread, his hands under his head.

 

_Trato de darte de lo major que hace que todo se llame ‘amor’._

_Trato de verme como soy yo y cambiar lo que duele._

He whispered it again and smiled at the end. I smiled too, looking at him with – I felt it too strong – an utter adoration.

 

_Siempre me has demonstrado que eres como un milagro,_

_algo tan especial que siempre me ha arropado…_

 

He frowned, whispering words from another song of _El Canto del Loco_ – like, he was trying to find the best lyrics for something.

 

_No sé si pensar si eres el ángel que cuida mi camino._  
No sé si pensar si merezco todo este cariño.  
Que has visto en mi? Que me tu verdad y tu cielo…

He murmured a silent _no_ , then turned around – his back half at me. I opened my eyes fully now, being sure he couldn’t see me.

 

_Y pienso que si no existes yo me muero…_

 

He interrupted himself.

 

_Que tu vida es lo que quiero, y que tú eres mi mitad…_

He laughed silently and said _si_ , repeating the last sentence several times, _Eres mi mejor mitad_ , he finished, turning back around, almost catching my gaze at him.

 

‘Juan?’ I gulped upon hearing my name but did not open my eyes. Felt him shift a bit. The aroma was too close. I sensed his finger on my beard and surrendered upon his touch, blinking at him.

 

‘No es… _nada_ ,’ he smiled childishly and my eyes flickered through his shining brown ones. He put his hands under his chin again and looked at me, smiling, ‘Eres mi mejor mitad, Juan Mata. I mean it. I wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for you.’

 

‘Are you drunk?’

 

My heart was pounding in my ears.

 

‘No, why?’ he laughed and I shrugged under the sheets.

 

‘Sudden revelations past midnight. I should sleep in my free time. You always are too emotional during the nights – with philosophical thoughts and confessions.’

 

He laughed again and arranged himself more comfortably.

 

‘You are my best friend.’

 

‘Thanks.’

 

‘And the person I love the most on this Earth, after my children.’

 

My heart sank and I choked, burying my head in the pillow, coughing. He chuckled.

 

‘It didn’t hurt me saying it. Now it’s much easier. I love you. There.’

 

I choked again and looked at him. He was still smiling like an innocent child.

 

‘If you ever leave Chelsea, I am coming with you. Doesn’t matter if you start playing for a club in Antarctica.’

 

‘Yes, I’ve heard about Penguin United FC.’

 

He rolled his eyes, ‘Well, you will be the one to score the headers there – you will be like a giant in the club.’

 

‘Funny Torres, funny,’ I chuckled and blushed, moving myself at the edge of the bed and looking at him, ‘Emotions overload, Fernando?’

 

‘No, just… Fernando taking his all and saying what he has been trying to say for years,’ he smiled at me. Just less than a hand away from me, ‘I truly love you. You are like… the best thing that has happened to me in years time.’

 

‘You are the best thing that has happened to me in my _whole life_ , Fernando.’

 

‘I know.’

 

‘Good.’

 

He smiled again and stretched his hand, caressing my cheek.

 

‘And I want to stay in your life. May I?’

 

‘If you promise you want screw it up.’

 

‘Well, I will. You know me.’

 

I chuckled, snuggling up in his hand, ‘May I tell you something?’

 

‘Hm?’

 

‘I met this girl yesterday-…’ he took his hand off my face and I frowned but decided to continue, ‘Gorgeous. A bit taller than me-…’

 

‘It’s 2.30am, let’s continue this tomorrow, vale?’

 

I really did meet a girl yesterday and she really was gorgeous. And I really did feel something and wanted to share it with him.

 

‘Ha! Done with your confessions and not caring about mine? Fine,’ I pouted and folded my hands across my chest. He rolled his eyes.

 

‘You ruined the romance.’

 

I smirked, ‘Are you jealous?’

 

‘Me?’

 

‘You.’

 

‘Nunca.’

 

‘Fernando, you are married, yet I still do love you. Give me a break,’ I chuckled to which he snorted and waved with his hands, finally throwing the bedsheet over himself.

 

‘Because, even if I haven’t said it till now, you have always known Fernando Torres is all yours.’

 

‘Except when Sergio Ramos is around.’

 

‘Speaking of jealousy…’

 

‘Vale,’ I giggled and he smiled.

 

‘I love you.’

 

‘God, now you won’t stop.’

 

‘Do you want me to?’

 

‘No.’

 

‘I love you, then.’

 

I smiled. We both looked at the ceiling.

 

‘This is the best night in my life.’

 

‘Better than winning the Champions League?’

 

‘A bit in a competition with the Euro final but still…’ he laughed, ‘Buenas, Fernando.’

 

‘I expected _amor_ but this would do it.’

 

‘Don’t get too cheeky.’

 

He laughed wholeheartedly and I bit my lower lip, ‘Buenas, Fernando,’ I repeated.

 

‘Noches, Juan.’

 

I snuggled in my bedhseets, closing my eyes and trying to fall asleep with a smile.

 

‘May I?’

 

‘Hm?’

 

‘Te amo,’ I smiled and lifted a thumb up.

 

‘Rehearse, rehearse. That’s the way,’ he chuckled, ‘I love you too.’ __  
  
  


 


	5. You'll Have Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Juan & Nando in Brazil & on the beach of Fortaleza. We all know doing /what/ exactly. ;p]

**CHAPTER 5**

_Juan’s POV_

I felt him watching me and gulped, without taking a look at him. He was probably smirking now and I was dying to see that smirk of his but I just did my best to remain calm and steady.

 

‘¿Que pasó, Nando?’

 

‘Nada.’

 

I was chuckling inside but bit my lips to keep as serious as before.

 

‘Why are you staring at me like that?’

 

‘Since when is it forbidden to look at you?’

 

Now I smiled a little and looked aside, half-turning my neck at him. Coughed, trying to get back to the serious mood. Succeeded, to be honest. He didn’t stop looking at me, though.

 

‘Fernando, there is a game on the pitch…’

 

‘We are winning it.’

 

‘Well, one goal is nothing yet.’

 

He hummed something under his nose. I was dying to see him play but I was dying to sit next to him. The dilemmas in my life, yeah.

 

‘I promise – if Vicente lets me play, I will score a beautiful, beautiful goal for you. Vale?’

 

‘Vale, vale. Shut up now and stop staring at me.’

 

I quickly shifted my eyes at him only to catch his gaze on my lips. Shivered.

 

‘Nando, I am gonna _insist_ on Vicente letting you in. You are getting creepy.’

 

He laughed and stretched his legs, finally looking at the pitch.

 

And then he played.

 

And then he scored.

 

And then I felt like sinking in all the love I had for him.

 

Had to somehow show it, though. And it was not until the evening back in the hotel room.

 

‘I wanna pass out.’

 

‘Don’t!’ I chuckled as he dramatically landed on his bed and puffed loudly, then closed his eyes, head buried in the pillow. I reached out for him, gently tapping his bottom, ‘Fernando José, get up. The boys are waiting for us.’

 

‘My mother calls me like that, stop it.’

 

‘Olalla too and it turns you on, hm?’ he chuckled at my question, not moving even an inch out of the pillow. I sat on his bed, massaging his back, ‘They’ve got hookers.’

 

Fernando shifted and looked at me, smiling.

 

‘Who are _they_?’

 

I shrugged, patting his back, ‘Don’t know. We’ll see when we go. I bet Sergio is there.’

 

‘We _all_ bet Sergio is there,’ he buried his head in the pillow again.

 

‘Ha, that’s why you don’t want to go. Jealous of Sergio and the women, hm?’ my lower lip trembles but he giggled, in muffed sounds because of the pillow on his mouth.

 

‘No,’ he looked at me again, ‘I have my hooker here, why should I go to other rooms?’

 

I pursed my lips and shook my head at his laughter. He moved so as to lay on his back and faked a slap on my face.

 

‘Juan, get rid of this beard – it’s growing up. Soon you will be the next Santa Claus.’

 

‘Am I not a Santa Claus for you? See!’ I jumped, dragging the huge bag I’ve had with me the entire time and threw it on his bed. He shifted, sitting on his legs, when I took chocolate bars and candies. He laughed, eyes widened up, ‘Your favourite ones are here too, wait…’

 

‘You can’t be serious!’ he immediately grabbed a chocolate bar, unwrapping it with hunger. I smiled, ‘ _San Juan_.’

 

I laughed wholeheartedly and unwrapped another bar myself, sitting right opposite to him, my legs under my body too. We were eating like this, in a complete silence, for minutes, before someone knocked on our door. I snorted and lifted myself up with a strong and visible effort to open it. Piqué.

 

‘Vamos, chicooos… We’ve been waiting for you, what are do-…’ I just pushed him gently out of the room. He wiggled his eyebrows, ‘Is he dressed, at least?’

 

‘Funny, Geri. No, I was in the process of undressing him,’ I clicked my tongue and he laughed, patting (almost breaking) my back, ‘We will come later, probably. If we don’t fall asleep at some point.’

 

‘Nando, sing him that Castilian lullaby of your grandma. He will sleep like a baby,’ I pushed him again as he shouted this with a laughter, trying my best not to grin. Closed the door and turned back at the chuckling Fernando. His phone vibrated and he pointed at it (on the bureau) for me to read the received message.

 

‘It’s from Iker. _Playa. Miercoles. Vale?_ ’

 

He nodded and lifted a thumb up, chewing yet another chocolate piece. I quickly typed the typical Fernando response – _Vale gracias. ;)_

‘Wanna bet?’ Fernando’s eyes sparkled at me and I frowned, trying to deduce what would he have in mind, ‘Who would get laid tonight?’

 

‘Go.’

 

‘Well, Sergio…’ we both said it together and then laughed, as he continued to list the other players. Grinned at the end, ‘And you, of course.’

 

‘I am staying here.’

 

‘Exactly,’ he winked and I laughed as he did the same. Threw a _Mars_ at me, ‘Not afraid of me?’

 

‘Should I be?’

 

‘You can’t even defend yourself,’ he shrugged with a smile, looking at his hands in his lap, folding a piece of paper.

 

‘Para, hombre. I can. Don’t make me show it to y-…’ but he made me show it to him, as he literally sprang on me, tickling the skin of my stomach. I laughed for what seemed like ages before him stopping and backing off. Laying on my back in his bed, with my palms rubbing my chest, I was still giggling, trying to catch a proper breath.

 

‘Nando, you are going to regret this.’

 

I saw him smirk as innocently as possible, biting a waffle. I shook a finger at him, ‘Wait for the beach. Just wait.’

 

\---

 

_Fernando’s POV_

‘Damn, this is so delicious!’ I drank another cocoa water straight from the fruit – the fourth, huh? – and licked my lips, ‘Arbie, wanna try?’

 

Arbeloa just shrugged, mindlessly turning his back at me, yawning loudly.

 

‘Sergio?’

 

He shook his head, being super serious, looking somewhere in the distance. I rolled my eyes. Ever since the night with the hookers, just those of us who weren’t there (not so many people, to be honest) were in a fairly good mood. Others were smashed, not talkative at all, kinda angry at the whole world.

 

I heard a laughter and turned a bit to my left to see Juan literally falling off his chair in a child-like manner, while laughing with a few others. Couldn’t help but smile and feel the typical warmth in my chest again. Stood up, quickly looking at Sergio again.

 

‘Coming to the water?’

 

He shook his head, ‘Go. I am ok.’

 

‘Sure?’

 

‘Si. Vete.’

 

I winked at him and he tried to smile a bit. I leaned down to take the cocoa and get it back to the bar, ‘Xavi, quieres algo?’

 

He shook his head and so did the other Barça players around him, ‘A glass of cold water with lemon for me, Nando.’ I smiled at Andrès and nodded, going to the bar. Caught Juan slowly getting in the water, checking its temperature like a mother concerned about her child’s bath. I giggled, ordering Iniesta’s water and slowly went to the shore again. Juan was with his back at me, his fingers playing with the waves and the foam.

 

‘Juan?’ he turned around and instantaneously smiled, ‘How is it?’

 

‘Perfect. Wanna try?’

 

‘Well…’ I was a bit far from him, seeing how the waves were hitting his tiny body and how he was shivering initially but then got used to it and was confidently grinning and laughing. Busquets passed by me, together with Cesc.

 

‘We are also getting in,’ I nodded at Cesc, slowly walking right next to them.

 

‘Fernando, I would die until you get in the water…’ Juan chuckled and I shook my head, taking a deep breath.

 

‘Oh, no, _now_ you die!’ I dug my feet in the wet sand, splashing the water around us (and all over the surprised Fabregas  & Busquets), running through to reach Juan. His eyes widened up and he spread his hands, trying to balance himself upon the waves.

 

‘Fernando!’

 

I laughed at his rather childish scream before seeing him jump under water to escape me. I followed him, although I knew that he was a rather good swimmer and even better than me most of the time. I went out of the water and shook my head before opening my eyes and seeing him several metres to the right of me. He stuck his tongue out before another wave hit him and he disappeared from my sight for several seconds, freaking me out a bit. Then I felt something touch my leg and I gulped. He sprang all of a sudden out of the water, kicking me to fall, then pressing me under water, to which, I fought, of course and he was not putting any force either, to be honest. Once out of the water again, I reached out to tickle him again but he splashed water in my eyes and I had to stop to rub them.

 

‘I told you I would tease you today.’

 

‘To be honest, this is the best tease I’ve ever got, along with Nora’s,’ I laughed, opening my eyes again. Turned my back at him and tapped a bit above my waist, ‘Go on.’

 

‘Hm?’ felt his unsure palms on my shoulder and his chin touching my earlobe, ‘¿Qué?’

 

‘Jump. On my back, Juan. Go on.’

 

‘¿Nando, que digas?’

 

I reached out for him, stretching my hands back and squeezing his hips, lifting him up a bit. But couldn’t do it by myself, so snorted loudly. He chuckled, jumping and embracing my neck from behind. I adjusted myself, pressing his knees to my sides, as he was almost strangling me now. He let his left hand move over my chest and tap it.

 

‘Okay, now I know how I will die, at least. Olalla would kill me.’

 

‘This would be a pleasant death, then.’

 

‘Can’t deny it,’ he patted my chest again and kept silent, ‘Am I heavy? Oh, Dios, perd-…’

 

‘Shut up!’ he chuckled and hugged my neck again, nuzzling his hair and beard in my temple.

 

‘I love you.’

 

I smiled, squeezing his thighs and he chuckled in my ear-shell, ‘I love you too, Juan. Otherwise I wouldn’t dare looking so gay on the beaches of Brazil.’

 

He laughed and massaged my shoulders a bit, as I stopped to arrange my hold of him a bit better and stronger.

 

‘Change in my death plans. Look at Sergio. I am done. Farewell, cruel world,’ I lifted my eyes up, seeing Sergio attentively drinking his cocoa water, looking at us. Smiled a bit and leaned forward, puffing.

 

‘I can’t imagine carrying Ramos across the ocean, to be honest.’

 

‘Don’t over-exaggerate. It’s 20-30 metres.’

 

I laughed and scratched his right leg with my nails, ‘Next time it’s me on your back, then.’

 

‘No, no, let’s not over-exaggerate, indeed,’ we both laughed, reaching the shore. I let him down when we both saw fans approaching us. Juan quickly got serious, taking a marker to sign several shirts handed to him. I gulped, catching Sergio’s steady face on me, not really listening to the Brazilian kids around me, joking and telling me something.

 

Took a towel and heard Sergio cough, ‘You should get in too. The water is just brilliant.’

 

‘Will you carry me?’ I lifted my eyebrows up and looked at him, while wiping my body off with the towel. He laughed sarcastically, ‘You know, can’t risk being carried away by a storm. I need my _knight_.’

 

‘If you want to, I can carry you,’ I snorted. Saw Juan stop next to us and hear our conversation. He shrugged and walked away, shaking his head.

 

‘No, no, don’t kill your back. _I_ would have carried you around if I was to go in the water.’

 

‘Why are you not going in, anyway?’

 

‘Not in a mood.’

 

‘Navas wasn’t in a mood for sex yesterday either,’ Pepe just casually added it, eavesdropping on our dialogue. I smirked and Sergio shook his head, putting his sunglasses back on and resting in his chair.

 

‘What about _Navas_?’ Jesús smiled at Pepe, tapping his shoulder, and coming to us, ‘How’s the water?’

 

‘Ask Mata,’ Sergio just nonchalantly responded when Juan was getting back to us with a towel, wiping his hair with it. He looked at the four of us in confusion.

 

‘About what?’

 

‘About the water. Navas wants to know how it is.’

 

‘I don’t know, Ramos. I was on someone’s back,’ Juan answered just as nonchalantly, laying back on his armchair. Silence for a minute.

 

‘Mata one, Ramos zero. End of first half,’ Pepe said it in a commentator voice and I just snorted, sitting on a chair somewhere between Sergio and Juan.

 

‘There is a saying – two people arguing over something, the third one gets it. Bless you, Olalla Torres, bless you,’ Pepe dramatically stood up and just as theatrically went to the water, giving a loud female-like shriek at its not-so-low temperature. We all laughed.

 

‘Someone in a need of cocoa water?’ Juan stood up – too bright for the mood of everyone else – waving his money around. I lifted a thumb up and, to my own surprise, so did several other players – one of them was Sergio, ‘Alright. I shall just decide where to put my poison – at Nando’s or at Sergio’s.’

 

This time even Sergio laughed, when Juan quickly ran to the bar, lifting sand up behind his huge feet. I smiled, taking my ringing phone out and seeing _Nora_ on the display (she got her very own phone weeks ago, used just several minutes per day, to call her mother or me). And I just saw the photo she has put on my phone when she was calling me – Chelsea’s last game; her, Leo, me and… Juan. I smiled and answered the call.

 


	6. You'll Have Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Juan and Sergio spend some time in Ibiza together, whereas Fernando is in Madrid - jealous and angry. Without realising that Juan is thinking about him all the time.]

**CHAPTER 6**

 

 

_Fernando’s POV_

I heard some strange noises and immediately raised an eyebrow.

 

‘Juan?’

 

He coughed on the phone.

 

‘Juan, are you alright? Are you sick?’

 

He murmured something and coughed again, making me freak out even more.

 

‘Juan Manuel, tell me what is going on!’

 

‘I am eating, _Fernando José_. Jesus, calm down. A person can’t eat some jamón these days.’

 

I smirked, imagining his grumpy bearded face. Folded my arms across my chest, trying my best not to let the mobile phone fall.

 

‘Still in Ibiza?’

 

‘Mhm,’ he continued chewing and I laughed.

 

‘Juan, stop eating while we are talking.’

 

‘It’s so damn delicious, though… Sergio, what is this, hombre?’

 

I froze – with the smile and the posture and everything. Sergio? There was someone with him in Ibiza. Someone _other_ than his sister Paula.

 

‘Ah, yes. Some traditional Balearic food. I will take some to London and will feed you up like a piglet, I promise,’ he chuckled but I gulped loudly in response.

 

‘Who is with you?’

 

‘Paula.’

 

‘Just Paula?’

 

‘Yes, just the two of us. We met some friends here – Nicky and Rocío: you remember them, right? Ah, and we met Ramos here too. We are leaving tomorrow evening, though.’

 

‘You sound sad about that.’

 

‘Well, we’ve spent good three days together with him.’

 

Three bloody days! Every time I was trying to call Juan, it was Paula answering it, saying Juan was taking a nap, swimming, etc, etc. He has been with Sergio all the time. This was some kind of a joke. Sergio. Wasn’t Sergio like… Oh God! Why does this have to be so damn complicated?

 

‘I am happy for you two.’

 

‘Hm?’ he chewed again rather loudly. I was slowly burning inside.

 

‘It’s good that you two get along so well.’

 

‘He is a nice guy. Plus, when I am with him, I have more confidence in myself.’

 

‘Oh, do you?’ ok, this was getting ridiculous.

 

‘Yeah. He makes me free myself a bit more – I started having more fun during the parties and-…’

 

‘Drinking?’

 

‘That too.’

 

‘Chicks, isn’t it?’

 

I pursed my lips and heard him chewing and gulping again, ‘Yep. For the three days he was here he managed to introduce me to at least ten very beautiful girls.’

 

‘Did he? And…? Did something happen?’

 

‘Not more than a kiss.’

 

_A kiss is enough_ , I thought but had to skip over this thought.

 

‘With all ten of them?’

 

‘ _At least_ ten, I said,’ he laughed and my breath cracked down, ‘No, just one of them. She was taller. Blonde and with a superb smile.’

 

‘Mhm. Are you seeing her again?’

 

‘Not really. We are spending more time with Sergio now.’

 

Silence. Only his chewing.

 

‘Juan, stop eating, for fuck’s sake!’

 

‘Fernando, what’s wrong?’

 

‘Nothing, it’s just annoying.’

 

‘Okay, just calm down. Whoa!’ a pause, ‘How is Olalla? Nora and Leo?’

 

‘We tried calling you five times yesterday – did Paula tell you?’

 

‘Ah, yes. But we got back with Sergio at 3.30 a.m., so it was impossible for me to call back. Are they around?’

 

‘No. At the pool with Ola. I am alone in the hotel apartment.’

 

‘You ok?’

 

‘Sunburn.’

 

He giggled and I sat at the edge of the bed, sliding a palm over by almost bald head.

 

‘I-…’

 

_Juan, ven aquí, hombre!_

Sergio’s voice. My lower lip trembled, not ending up the sentence.

 

‘What were you about to say?’

 

‘Nada, Juan. Go. Sergio is calling you,’ I was expecting him to say he won’t go and that Sergio could wait and that we could talk – even on skype, as we used to. But all my hopes went crashing down in just one sentence of his.

 

‘Vale. I will call you again tomorrow.’

 

He quickly ended the call and I looked for a bit too long at the phone’s screen before burying my face in my hands.

 

 

_Juan’s POV_

I was starting to get drunk and my head was starting to spin. Looked around the club but Sergio was nowhere to be seen. So I excused myself before the three ladies at our table and directed my a bit dizzy body to the toilets. Entered one of the cubicles and closed my eyes, hitting slightly my forehead at the door.

 

All I could see was a tall blonde, a superb smile and… freckles. Loads of them.

 

I gasped, smiling like a fool at the dirty and rough toilet door. Tried unlocking it but heard a familiar voice close enough.

 

‘Nando, hombre, que tal?’ Sergio was calling Fernando. I gulped, ‘Well, I am not missing you, to be honest. Juan neither. He is having so, _so_ much fun. Three ladies at our table – two for him.’

 

I smirked and leaned closer at the door to hear clearer.

 

‘I am glad we started to talk more with him. I can see what you love him so much,’ my heart skipped a beat, ‘But I am afraid he has kinda forgotten about you right now. ‘

 

That was not true. And we both knew it. Although Fernando could think Sergio was right – he was _always_ believing him.

 

‘You don’t mind if I take him away from you, don’t ya?’

 

I gulped, fisting my hands a bit. Sergio laughed.

 

‘Ok. Hear you later. Off we go to the adventure. Let’s hope the girls have left some Mata for me too.’

 

I heard him end the call and then walk out of the toilet. I made several circles in the small cubicle, making time pass, then walked out. Tried to do my best to get out of the club without being noticed by any of the girls or – God forbid – by Ramos. Took me about five-seven minutes before I was at a safe distance away from the bar, walking in a bit darker area of the beach. I dug in the pockets of my jeans to find my phone and quickly dialed the number I knew by heart. Waiting…

 

_Busy._

He was cutting me off.

 

I called again.

 

He was quickly ending the calls.

 

Decided to write a short message.

 

_Nando, por fa, answer. :)_

_No need. Have fun with Sergio._

_Torres!_

No answer. I called again and waited a lot before he answered with a grunt. I smiled.

 

‘You are angry.’

 

‘I am trying to sleep.’

 

‘No, you are not. You talked with Ramos about ten minutes ago.’

 

He kept silent. I put my left hand in the pocket of my jeans and started slowly, slowly walk on the beach, sand awfully coming through my expensive shoes.

 

‘What is it, Nando?’

 

‘It’s 1.45 a.m. It’s night, I think.’

 

I laughed. He, however, did not respond.

 

‘Ramos is great.’

 

‘If you called to talk about Sergio, better end the call now.’

 

‘I don’t get it why you are so furious all of a sudden…’

 

‘I am not, Mata. Ok? I am not.’

 

We kept silent. I sat at the edge of a half-broken chair near the shore.

 

‘You are angry of him getting closer to me, is that so?’ silence, ‘You think I’ll take your friend away. Don’t worry. He loves only you.’

 

‘You really think that’s of any interest to me?’

 

Now I kept silent. He shifted.

 

‘Good night, Juan. Have fu-…’

 

‘I miss you,’ I was unable to catch my breath and it lost itself somewhere in the sounds of the waves, ‘I miss you so, so much, Fernando…’

 

‘Yes, I can see.’

 

He was acting cool and stuff but I felt his voice shaking a bit. Smirked and lowered my head, following the steps of a seagull walking near me.

 

‘Was the blonde one on your table tonight?’

 

‘Yes. The blonde one is _always_ around.’

 

‘Good. You should make a move.’

 

‘I am trying to, but the blonde doesn’t let me.’

 

‘She is kinda stupid, then.’

 

‘Why?’

 

‘Because if she rejects you… This would be outrageous,’ his explanation was of a three-year-old, ‘You just deserve someone to love you, Juan. For the perfect creature you are.’

 

‘I thought _you_ loved me.’

 

‘I do. But I am not a tall blonde with a superb smile.’

 

He laughed and I smirked again, still attentively looking at the seagull.

 

‘Are you sure?’ he kept silent and then gulped loudly, ‘Well, it’s kinda brownish these days but still…’

 

‘Good one, though.’

 

‘Thank you,’ we chuckled at the same time, ‘But, Fernando?’

 

‘Mmm?’

 

‘It was true, though. The blonde is always there. Even when I close my eyes, the blonde is there. I try to drink a bit more to forget the blonde, I try to party a bit more, I try to get with the blonde’s friends more – to understand the blonde more. But the blonde doesn’t go away. Just on the contrary – stuck in my heart and mind.’

 

‘Lucky blonde, huh?’

 

‘I’ve always told you you’re kinda lucky.’

 

He laughed and I melted in a grin, ‘Juan…’

 

‘I got with Ramos only to know much more about you – I always think it’s not enough and I always want to be closer and closer and closer to you. But sometimes I think I am like suffocating you – hence, I didn’t want to take your calls,’ I took a deep breath, ‘And I am partying and drinking more in order to see the life apart from being always next to Fernando Torres. But it’s _im-pos-si-ble_.’

 

‘Juan, I am sor-…’

 

‘No, no! I always think there is something more for me out there than just helping and making Fernando Torres happy – and thus, myself too. But there is not. This damn break is far too long and I can’t wait getting back to London and seeing you and-…’

 

Silence.

 

‘I am sorry. It’s just the heat here, on Ibiza. How is it in Madrid?’

 

‘Not like in London with Juan Mata but it’s alright.’

 

‘Yes, make fun of me now.’

 

He laughed and I pouted.

 

‘Oh, Juan, what would I do without you…’

 

‘Live a happy life?’

 

‘I strongly doubt it. But you will without me, as we all can see.’

 

‘Well…’ I coughed, ‘There was no kiss. I made this one up. No chicks I got close to.’

 

‘And the blonde?’

 

‘No such.’

 

Another awkward silence.

 

‘You are such a bastard,’ we both laughed in sync, ‘I was so angry at you, even Nora got angry at me being angry.’

 

‘Sorry, repeat again?’

 

He snorted and I chuckled, biting my lower lip, ‘You were jealous, hm?’

 

‘Surprised you are not eating anything right now,’ he quickly and swiftly changed the subject and I smiled upon realising it.

 

‘I can smell the churros near. After this talk, I am buying at least two boxes.’

 

‘Paula has already promised me when you two go to Asturias, you’d start running to get this belly off.’

 

‘What belly?’

 

‘Juan!’

 

‘Fernandoooooooooooo…’

 

‘No churros.’

 

‘Yes churros. They are perfection.’

 

‘So are you but you need some regime. Running it is. When you come to London, there would be even more work-out.’

 

‘You know what? I am fine here with Ramos. I think I’ll stay here. Not missing London even a tiniest bit.’

 

He snorted and I clicked my tongue.

 

‘Juan Manuel!’

 

‘Nando, using my entire name is not a good idea…’

 

‘Hm?’

 

‘I shall dream about the blonde again. And with all the work-outs you talked of and… Por favooooor.’

 

‘I seem to fail to understand.’

 

I chuckled, harshly biting my lips, ‘You are such an idiot, Fernando Torres. My tall blonde idiot, with the superb smile and the million, million freckles.’

 

 


	7. You'll Have Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Fernando cannot imagine his life without Juan, if all those transfer rumours turn out to be true. Juan reassures him he won’t ever leave him.]

**CHAPTER 7**

_Fernando’s POV_

Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes, and it all would be finished.

 

‘Nando, where are you going?’ Olalla kissed the back of my neck and I turned around with a slight smirk, trying to calm myself down. Kissed her nose and lips and winked at her.

 

‘Going out for a walk. I need some fresh air – it has been a tough week.’

 

‘Do you want me to come with you?’

 

‘It’s ok, stay with the kids,’ I felt my phone vibrating but gulped, kissing Olalla once again and going out. It was a text from Frank:  _Still nothing confirmed. United or Arsenal._

I gulped again and exhaled as deep as I could as soon as the cold air hit my nostrils. Did not type a response back – just started walking (my goal, to reach the Thames and sit on a bench there), expecting all the updates.

 

Twenty minutes.

 

This was hell.

 

I suddenly started thinking about everything we both had till this moment. I started remembering the time he joined Chelsea, the times when he was the shoulder I was crying on, the times when he was encouraging me after yet another fault of mine. I shook my head but the bluest eyes ever, the wide smile and the soft  _Fernando, no te preocupes_  with the barely heard Asturian whisper, caught me off balance, and I subconsciously quickened my pace.

 

What would I do if he leaves me? Simple like that, out of nowhere. What? Just with the snap of the fingers, and he would be gone. The egoism in me was speaking once again but… I would be lost without him – I was starting to be lost, even without him being gone: just living day by day with the rumours of his transfer.

 

Sometimes I thought: Mourinho would not be that stupid to let Chelsea’s best player in the last two years to be gone. But then I thought about all the football history and the cases of best players of a club being let gone, and it started to kill me inside that I might lose him.

 

_Again_  my egoism.

 

Juan was my straw when I was drowning. He was there when no one else was. He turned his back to his own life, in order to save my miserable one. He was telling me I was his idol when I was not even recognising myself any longer. He was with me. Always.

 

And he became the necessity in my life I longed the most for, after my kids. Waking up in the morning, kissing Nora and Leo, he was my very first thought. Was he ok? Was he already in the car, going to Cobham? Then, when arriving to a training, I was first looking around for him. And upon spotting him, I would melt in a smile which he would reciprocate until I start grinning from ear to ear. Without even knowing how, I would be close to him all the time – slightly touching our fingertips, smirking at each playful remark of his, stealing glances at his glowing face when he was telling the others about another place in London he had just discovered. I would have lunch with him – I didn’t need anyone else – and I would be silent most of the time, listening about his new goals, sets, ambitions, desires. I would invite him to my place for a dinner and sometimes he would come; sometimes, we would go for a movie outside; sometimes, he would say he is too tired to even breathe and I would smile at his half-closed blue eyes. But then… I would feel happy that the next day would be the same, yet different – I would do the same things, again with him, but he would surprise me with something else and he would turn around my day once again. Sometimes, when I feel alone amongst many, I would knock at night on his door or give him a phone ring, and he would  _always_  respond in a yawn but never ever refusing to talk to me. I have had my stupid reasons to feel upset and disappointed but he never laughed at my stupidity – on the contrary: always expressed his honest concern, always tried his best to give me the most appropriate advice and to calm me down.

 

What if this was it? What if I would never again have the opportunity to go to a cinema with Juan and watch him eat his popcorn and curse in frustration when some of it falls out of the box? What if I would never again have the chance to run my fingers through this messy hair of his and tell him how much he means to me, my heart melting as he blushes and smiles? What if he leaves me?

 

Fifteen minutes.

 

I reached an empty bench and sat, taking a deep breath and letting my cold hands slip into the pockets of my jacket. The Thames was in a full contrast with my mood – too tranquil and peacefully calm.

 

I never told him I did not want him to leave. I tried not to be an egoist, at least not in front of him. I tried to remain steady whenever we two were together and someone was bringing up the topic of his eventual transfer. I would just smile when he looked at me, and try my best to avoid his gaze.

 

But tonight, in those last minutes till the closing of the transfer window, I felt the same insecurity and doubt I felt before him joining Chelsea. I felt I needed him just as strongly as back then, if not more. If he was to be gone, I was to be gone too. When I was little, I loved a toy – plush dog with big ears – but one kid at school tore it down and my mother threw it away. I cried and cried and cried, lowered my grades and discipline, and it was then when my mother told me never to get attached to anything or anyone so much that my life to depend on it. I was doing the same mistake now. My whole life was depending on Juan. And the more I was realising it, the more painful the thought of him going away was killing me.

 

Ten minutes.

 

I sighed and closed my eyes, trying to calm my breathing down. Half-jumped when two hands grabbed my shoulders and slightly massaged me. Quickly opened my eyes and looked up. There, partly covered by the moonlight, was he – Juan – smiling and winking at me.

 

‘Went to yours but Ola told me you were out. I knew exactly where,’ he sat next to me – his hands between his legs, rubbing them against each other to warm up a bit. Snuggled in his fluffy jacket. I smirked and bit my lower lip, ‘By the way, bought your favourite wine – left it at your apartment.’

 

‘Reason?’

 

‘For?’

 

‘For the wine? Are we celebrating something?’ the pain in my heart grew even wider. He nodded slightly and half-smiled with this typical mysterious smile of his.

 

‘Yes, we are. Wait a few minutes, and you’ll know it.’

 

That was it. He was leaving. For real. He was leaving  _me_.

 

I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek. Looked away, trying to focus on the Thames, despite my already blurry (damn them, treacherous tears!) vision.

 

‘Was it true?’

 

‘Hm?’

 

‘That you love me?’

 

He did not answer – just puffed and chuckled a bit. It hurt even more. I felt him coming closer. His right hand moved under mine and he leaned on my shoulder – his hair slightly brushing my neck.

 

‘Are you doubting it?’

 

Five minutes, probably.

 

I shrugged. He smiled at my neck.

 

‘Seriously? Are you asking this for real?’

 

‘You are leaving.’

 

I felt his body tense next to mine and how he lacked a proper breath for several seconds. Then he exhaled, his breathing hitting the crook of my neck.

 

‘You believe in this? All those rumours are true to you?’

 

I shrugged again.

 

‘You heard Mourinho – he compares me to Xavi and so on, and so forth. Why would he sell me?’

 

I smirked. He was not talking about  _leaving_ , he was talking about him being  _sold_. Two entirely different things.

 

‘If he had the wish, you would have left, wouldn’t you?’

 

‘If I am unwanted and they insist on me leaving…’

 

I tried moving away from him, leaving his hand floating in the air. Clicked my tongue and stood up, putting my hands in the pockets of my jeans.

 

‘What is it, Fernando?’

 

I laughed sarcastically. A big cloud of air escaped my mouth.

 

‘You say you love me. Yet, you want to leave me.’

 

‘You love interpreting my words the way you like them better, don’t you?’ I heard him shuffle up a bit and standing up as well. Felt his presence a step behind me, ‘I am not going anywhere.’

 

‘But you would, if given the chance.’

 

‘And I would take you with me.’

 

I smiled, ‘You can’t.’

 

Felt him shrug, ‘Will do my best to.’

 

‘Juan… Stop it,’ I turned around, ‘You don’t have to always demonstrate how much you love something which is already bothering you. I know I am a burden. Stop pretending you can stand me.’

 

‘I  _can’t_  stand you when you talk about yourself like that,’ his blue eyes glittered under the street lamp. He pursed his lips and shrugged, letting out a small sigh, ‘I just love you, Fernando. I tried not to, but it’s stronger than me. When I was little, Mum was telling us two with Paula not to get attached to someone so much because it would hurt. But I am attached to you and it doesn’t hurt – it is the best feeling ever. Except when you talk with Ramos.’

 

I laughed and he grinned. Lowered my head and sank in his palm, which was now caressing my cheek. His forehead touched mine.

 

‘What you did against Bayern…’

 

‘Don’t…’ I smiled, feeling the blush covering my face.

 

‘I love you.’

 

‘I love you too, and that’s my problem. You are going to leave one day and I am gonna break down again.’

 

‘I am gonna break down too, I can assure you. But, as long as it depends on me, I would never leave you.’

 

His other palm was on my left cheek now and he was cupping my face, our foreheads still slightly brushing each other. I smirked, still looking down.

 

‘I-… I just don’t know what I would do without my little Juan.’

 

He smiled and moved up a bit, kissing my forehead and resting his chin on my hair. My hands travelled on his waist and I pushed his tiny body against mine, tightly embracing him.

 

‘You are showering me with love in the last months. Sweet words, Brazil, the  _10_  gesture against Bayern…’ he chuckled and I smiled in his neck.

 

‘You deserve so much more.’

 

Tick-tock. Time up. My phone vibrated but Juan was quicker in taking it out of my jacket pocket.

 

‘ _Juan is staying. Greet him from me._  Frank?’ Juan laughed, handing me my phone back. I turned red, ‘You were believing the rumours, indeed. Oh, Fernando!’

 

I shrugged, ‘Don’t know what or who to believe anymore.’

 

He quickly cupped my face again and stood on his tiptoes, looking me directly in the eyes. I embraced his waist again.

 

‘Look at me, Fernando José. I am not going anywhere. You can believe  _me_. I would never leave you. I  _can’t_  leave you. You mean the world to me and I  _won’t_  leave you. You hear me?’

 

I smiled and licked my lips, ‘What is the wine for, then?’

 

‘My parents’ anniversary,’ I rolled my eyes. Only Juan could make this. I laughed and he shrugged, stepping back on the ground, ‘¿Qué?’

 

‘Nothing, nothing.’

 

‘You have been to  _The Little Venice_  before, right?’

 

‘Yes, why?’ we started walking back to my apartment, hand by hand.

 

‘I am thinking of booking a table in the best restaurant there, for tomorrow. For two,’ he wiggled his eyebrows and I bit my lower lip, fisting my hands in my jeans pockets.

 

‘Who is the lucky girl?’

 

He chuckled, leaning on my shoulder again, ‘Remember the tall beautiful blonde, with the superb smile and the million freckles?’

 

‘Juan!’ I laughed, feeling the treacherous redness covering my cheeks again.

 

‘I want to show you I am staying, I am with you, and I love you. Deal?’

 

‘Deal. But I will pay for the lunch.’

 

‘Never. I am the man in our relationship, remember?’

 

‘Juan Manuel, do  _not_  make me show you who the man here is.’

 

I smirked when I saw my building in the near distance.

 

‘First one who reaches the entrance has the right to ask the other one for  _anything_  in the next month.’

 

‘Oh, you better work out those shoes of yours, Fernando Torres!’ and chuckling, he ran in front of me.

 


	8. You'll Have Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Juan’s transfer to Manchester United is a fact and it hurts Fernando way too much to lose the only person he has ever loved so deeply. But this will not be the end of them and, although it breaks Juan’s heart as well, they are both sure they would never ever forget each other.]

**CHAPTER 8**

_Fernando’s POV_

 

I look at him in the utter realisation that this is the last time we will ever be like this – him sitting on the edge of my bed and me standing opposite to him. I want to remember him this way: shyly smiling while rubbing his hands against each other or running them smoothly over his thigh, lifting his eyes with the colour of the bluest ocean to meet mine.

 

‘So, this is it?’

 

‘This afternoon, yes,’ he coughs to clear his throat, ‘In an hour or so. I will drive from here directly to the place where the helicopter is waiting for me.’

 

‘What would become with your instagram photos of London?’

 

He laughs it off. I know, a dumb commentary, but the lump in my throat and the blockage of my mind do not let me speak clearly and coherently.

 

‘Manchester has some nice places as well. You are calling me an _explorer_ for a reason.’

 

‘You are not going to love it there. There is no Thames or Hyde Park or…’

 

‘ _You_.’

 

I look aside for a moment and try to focus on the window. The sky is turning gray and the clouds are frowning, presupposing upcoming rain. They have no idea that it is already raining. Inside me.

 

‘I told you that at one point you’d leave me.’

 

‘Fernando, it’s not my fault…’

 

‘But you did, right? Nevertheless, you left me,’ I can feel the betraying tears in my eyes and I am not even trying to stop them. I look at him and there is no sign of his previous smile. His face is a mixture of sadness, of hardship, of thoughtfulness, of… compassion, ‘You just left me.’

 

I whisper it and look at the floor. I can swear that I can hear my shattered heart breaking into pieces right here and right now, in front of him. He shuffles a bit but does not stand up.

 

‘It isn’t easy for me either, Fernando. But I am just 25. I _need_ to play. Remember how you craved to play but the fans were not allowing you and you crushed down? Remember?’ I just nodded without even looking at him, ‘That’s almost the same with me now. The club does not let me play. And it crushes me down, Nando – you know it better than anyone. Weren’t you the one telling me to always try to prove myself? Hm? How can I prove myself in a place where no one wants me and _allows_ me to do so?’

 

‘ _I_ want you.’

 

‘Fernando…’

 

He clicks his tongue and adjusts himself better on my bed. How many sleepless nights I have craved of this situation, of this moment. But never imagined it would be like this.

 

‘You came to Chelsea because of me. Always questioned your decisions and how you can risk everything and undermine yourself and your desires for someone else. You have always told me you loved me and I took by default: knowing that you will always be there. And it physically hurts me to see you leave…’ I finally look up at him, only to see him slightly smiling back at me. I force a smile back but without any success, ‘And now you are leaving. I feel empty, Juan. I fell like drowning and there won’t be anyone around to lean on to and to survive.’

 

He gulps and purses his lips. Looks away, ‘As you said, I need to take care of myself as well. Right?’

 

‘Right.’

 

He looks at me again, then pouts and sighs. Finally stands up and comes closer to me, making me shiver a bit. I put my hands in the pockets of my jeans, gulping rather soundly and looking away.

 

‘Fernando, I-…’

 

‘I just want you to be happy, Juan,’ I interrupt him, looking at his eyes once again, shrugging, ‘That’s all I want. And it would be unfair for me to stop you from being happy. You are absolutely right – you _need_ to play, you _need_ to prove yourself, you _need_ the world to know how good you are. Right now, Chelsea cannot give you all that. Probably, Manchester United can – who knows. I hope so.’

 

He smiles vaguely and nods, looking down at his toes.

 

‘I will try being happy, Fernando, I will.’

 

‘Please do. If not for yourself, do it for _me_ ,’ I notice him smirk a bit, to which I smile, ‘You know what they say? _You know you love someone if you put their own happiness before yours._ This was you – all those years. And I was blind for it, and I questioned your love for me. Now I can understand it. Now, upon losing you, I realise how much I love you and, probably, always will.’

 

‘It’s not a farewell, Nando,’ he shrugs, ‘I am going to United with the hope to play regularly and to be in La Roja. And we will see each other again.’

 

‘If _I_ make it there.’

 

‘You will. Remember my frowny face in times when you doubt yourself,’ he frowns a bit, then laughs. I smile.

 

‘I will miss your frown. And your smile. And everything about you.’

 

He gulps and puts his hands in the pockets of perfectly slimmed trousers. Nods, ‘Lo sé, Nando. Me too. But that doesn’t mean we will grow distant, right?’

 

‘Díos, Juan!’ I suddenly shout out, waving with my hands. He involuntarily takes a step back, a bit frightened, ‘I am telling myself not to be egoistic and to let you go because that is what I am supposed to do, right? _If you love someone, let him go._ I don’t want to stop you being happy – just on the contrary. But _I_ am not happy _without you_ , do you realise that?’

 

He stands there, absolutely silent. I notice his lower lip starting to shiver. There he is – standing in his impeccable suit, with the dark-gray vest, with the perfect curls being faultlessly combed, with the beard shaven just the right way, with his shining shoes. So close, yet so far away.

 

‘I will be _nothing_ without you,’ I whisper it. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. I know perfectly well what that means – he is trying to stop himself from crying. Unlike me. I just let it all go, sniffing and quietly sobbing, ‘You are the only person in the world who believes in me, and _now_ you are gone.’

 

‘Fernando, I am not gone,’ I think I can hear an irritated sound in his slightly trembling voice, ‘I might be away but I am not _gone_. We will still write and talk on the phone, we will see each other in the national team – because we both will make it there. Like you and Ramos, right?’

 

‘This is absolutely different and you know it.’

 

‘Probably it’s best to pretend not to know it. For the sake of both of us,’ Juan finally opens his eyes and forces a slight smile. Sighs and waves with his hands, ‘ _Vale_. I have to go now.’

 

‘Be late,’ he laughs, ‘Por fa, stay a bit more.’

 

He looks up at me again and steps even closer. I take a deep breath, inhaling his strong perfume for what seems like the last time.

 

‘You are going to find another Juan and you are going to be perfectly alright, Fernando Torres. Being loved and adored, being taken care of, being looked at as an idol.’

 

‘Are you going to find another Fernando to take care of and to love, Juan Mata?’ I smile and he clicks his tongue. I notice him blush a bit and shake his head.

 

‘I don’t know how this would sound but…’ he looks at me, his eyes a bit red and starting to get teary, ‘I am absolutely sure I am going to cry my eyes out when I get into that helicopter.’

 

‘And then you will go down and be flawless and smiling, and David will come and hug you, and you will be shining.’

 

‘Yes, I probably will,’ he smiles, ‘Nando?’

 

‘Sí?’

 

‘I have always loved you, you know.’

 

I gulp and nod, ‘I am an idiot realising it just now.’

 

‘I’ve been repeating it for centuries!’ he laughs, just to avoid the embarrassment.

 

‘I just didn’t realise how a person could sacrifice his needs for someone else’s. And thought the _I love you_ ’s were simply to make _me_ feel better,’ I shrug and look at him, ‘Now I know why you did all this. _You loved me. You_ truly did. You are the younger one, yet so much more mature than I will ever be. Now I shall try to disregard my own needs and desires, just to see you happy. I promise, Juan, I _will_ try to.’

 

He stands silent for several seconds and nods, taking a deep breath. Then claps all of a sudden and smiles widely.

 

‘Aaand… Off I go!’

 

‘You will text me once you get there, right?’

 

‘Yes, I will do a handshake with Moyes with my right hand and text you with my left. Like: _Hang on, dude, hold your compliments for a minute – gotta write a message to Fernando Torres._ ’

 

I laugh and he chuckles, then purses his lips.

 

‘I will never forget any of our moments, Juan.’

 

‘Yo tampóco, Nando.’

 

‘Stay safe.’

 

‘You too.’

 

_A thousand unspoken words. I feel so strong and so weak at the same time._

He smiles, obviously expecting me to say something else, but I just cannot come up with anything _enough_ to describe my thoughts and feelings. He just nods, takes his phone from the table nearby and walks out of the apartment. I do not even follow him.

 

 

_Juan’s POV_

I take a deep breath and smile at the helicopter pilot in front of me.

 

‘It would take thirty minutes or so.’

 

‘Not enough even for a nap!’ I laughs and he smiles widely, nodding at me.

 

‘We are departing in five-six minutes, get ready.’

 

‘Mhm,’ I take out my phone by instinct, just before turning it off. Somehow, I expected something. And the sudden realisation strikes me – I was waiting for Fernando to call or at least text me. Yet, he didn’t. In this moment I think to myself that our relationship has always been like that: me declaring how much I have always loved him, and him being reluctant to give a back-response. Maybe… _maybe_ he is glad I am gone and all this in his apartment was simply a play by ‘Torres, the heart-warmer’ just to make my head spin around one more time.

 

But what I said there was right. I will cry my eyes out. Because yes, I will miss London; yes, I will miss Stamford Bridge; yes, I will miss the Chelsea fans and team-mates – they are all part of my heart. But Fernando Torres – he _is_ my heart. And even more – he _is_ my _soul_ because the heart eventually burns down but the soul is eternal. And I am absolutely sure that no matter where I am, I will always think about Fernando just before going to bed every evening and just after waking up every morning. I know that I will never _ever_ love anyone the way I loved him – the best friendship ever, the best ‘brother’ ever, the best… _man_ ever.

 

‘Ready?’ the pilot smiles at me once again.

 

‘Yep.’

 

'Nope,' I turn around just to see him, smiling at me and shrugging, a bit confused, ‘You will be late, I told you.’

 

‘Díos!’ I am on the verge of crying – both because of my previous thoughts and because of the pure happiness of him being right in front of me, ‘What are you doing here, Torres?’

 

‘It’s my day off because I am injured, Mata. Plus, Olalla and the kids are out,’ he pauses, ‘And I am an idiot.’

 

‘That’s true, to be honest,’ I smile widely and make a gesture at the pilot to wait for a minute or two. Then I step closer to Fernando.

 

‘I forgot to…’ he puts his hand in his jeans’ pocket and takes something out, shoving it in my hands. Short letter, a bit scrubby. Takes a loud breath, ‘There won’t be any internet connection up there for you to instagram or facebook or… God knows what,’ we both laughed, ‘You will have some time to read it.’

 

‘Thirty minutes.’

 

‘More than enough. Will avoid your _crying your eyes out_.’

 

‘Doubt it.’

 

He smirks. We stand silent, simply looking at each other. I shrug but, all of a sudden, he hugs me, pressing me closer to himself. My heart skips a beat when I feel his breath on my neck and in my ear.

 

‘Those nights in Kiev and Munich were the best in my life not because we won. It because _you_ were there, because _you_ were smiling, because _you_ were happy. Promise me you will always be, Juan,’ I just nod, shivering upon him whispering in my ear, ‘Bien. I will miss you.’

 

‘I-…’

 

‘I know,’ he pats my back and pushes me away when the pilot calls my name once again, ‘Go now. Go.’

 

He waves, shaking his head, obviously trying not to shed a tear. I just nod and run to the helicopter, put the helmet on and sit down. We go up and I try to force myself not to look down but my heart does not obey my mind. There he is – with his hands in his pockets: so small, like I’ve never seen him, lost somewhere there under the clouds.

 

I take a deep breath and open the letter with shivering hands. His awful writing – he has scrabbled it down in a hurry, probably after I left his apartment:

 

‘You did the talking, Juan, now let _me_. I will miss our room-sharing during Chelsea away-games, and seeing the way you rub your eyes and yawn like a baby, stretching your tiny legs in the bed, when you wake up early in the morning. I will miss the way you sweetly tell me _buenas, Nando_ before falling asleep, and softly snoring and talking in your sleep from time to time. I will miss the smell of your shampoo after you take a bath, or your aftershave, or you soaked up in your perfume. I will miss seeing how perfect you look when walking out of the shower, with a towel around your waist and the drops sliding over your chest. I will miss how you grumpy is your face in front of the mirror when you can’t arrange your curls and how I volunteer to help you do that – not helping at all, because all I crave for is running my fingers through them. I will miss the most beautiful blue eyes in the world looking at me so often and leaving an empty space in my heart when they are not. I will miss your smile and laugh and how you pronounce my name with your specific Asturian accent and as though all your heart is poured just in its three syllables. I will miss hearing you say _I love you_ and the aching feeling it has always left in my heart, when I was just unable to realise how to put into the most suitable words my own feelings towards you. When all I ever wanted was to say… _I love you_. And I will always do. The only person in the world I have ever loved so strongly and so beyond myself. _I love you, Juan Mata._ And when you smile, laugh, or even cry somewhere there in Manchester, remember that one heart will always be beating for you here, in London – _mine. I. Love. You._

 

Fernando’

 

 _Not crying?_ Right. I laugh between the sobs, carefully folding the letter back and putting it in the inside pocket of my vest. Closing my eyes, feeling the tears roll down my face, desperately trying to calm myself. Did not even realise we have touched the ground. I take a deep breath and step out once we land.

 

Sunshine. So ridiculous and damn symbolic – the cloudy weather in London and the sunshine in Manchester. Like two different lives. Just like it is indeed.

 

I put the bright smile and try to listen to Moyes and the other guys around as much as I can, attempting to ignore the pounding of my heart in my ears.

 

‘A friend of yours is waiting for you,’ Moyes chuckles when David de Gea walks out for a few seconds, giving me a tight hug. He presses me closer to himself than I expected.

 

‘Check Fernando’s twitter,’ he smiles when pulling back, giving me a quick wink.

 

Moyes and I walk around and around, talking, complimenting each other, but at one moment my heart starts pounding way too much in my ears, making me almost deaf. I excuse myself and almost literally run to the toilets.

 

_Simplemente… gracias por tantas cosas. Ya te echo de menos amigo._

_Por tantas cosas_. I know what that meant and what the three dots meant as well. It has always been like that – I was constantly shouting to the world how much I loved him, whereas he had his small moments when he was giving me _the world_.

 

I type fast, without even proofreading it.

 

_Simplemente… te amo. Por siempre._

 

_Fernando’s POV_

I smile when I re-read Juan’s message. I sigh loudly and lay back on my bed, hands under my head.

 

When he came to Chelsea, I promised him he will have everything and really gave him everything I could. Flat, car, English teacher, courses. And one thing, though I avoided saying it. _My heart._

 

Now, when he left Chelsea, he took nothing with himself. And yet, he has everything. He will _always_ have everything. All our memories, all our moments, and _all my heart_.


End file.
